


Forget-Me-Not

by lemonsorbae



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-27
Updated: 2013-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-06 08:10:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1104479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonsorbae/pseuds/lemonsorbae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the <a href="http://12daysofdestiel.tumblr.com/">12 Days of Destiel</a> Christmas celebration. The angels have fallen. Along with Castiel’s grace Metatron’s also taken his memories. Kevin lives. Sam is on the mend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forget-Me-Not

**Author's Note:**

> This is an 8x23 coda; SPN verse, canon divergence (I’ve fucked with the story line and time frame. Take that, writers. Ha!)

They rain down from the sky like comets, balls of fire hurtling towards the earth with alarming speed, their feathers turning to ash behind them as they fall. Dean watches with wide eyes and mouth agape as bodies soar around him in a shower of brilliant light, landing in Kentucky, and France, Malibu, and Nassau.

"The angels," he gasps, "they’re falling."

He reaches out for Sam, his eyes still trained on the skies, but his hand slices air and when he swivels his gaze to where he’d last left his brother, leaning against the Impala, there is nothing but emptiness in front of him. Dean’s heart speeds up.

"Sammy?!" His eyes scan the darkness for his brother’s lanky form, but find nothing. It’s as if Sam has disappeared into the void, leaving Dean alone with angels plummeting to the earth.

Behind him something thuds to the ground with sickening force and he whirls around, ready for a fight. There’s a body lying in the darkness, limp, lifeless, and the snatch of something tan sends Dean’s stomach to his knees.

"Cas?" It could be anyone, anything, but Dean would know the lines of that dirty trench coat anywhere.

His body feels numb, not his own in some strange way, but the adrenaline now coursing through his veins forces him to his feet and propels him towards the lump on the ground just a few feet away. He skids to a halt and falls to his knees, taking in the disheveled sight of his best friend.

"Cas!" he chokes again as his fingers curl around the lapels of the man’s coat.

Castiel’s eyes are closed, his head lolling backwards as Dean raises him off the ground and something twists inside Dean’s chest.

"Look at me, you son of a bitch!" His voice is frantic and desperate, but Castiel does not respond. Dean slides a hand behind Castiel’s neck and supports the fallen angel’s head in the palm of his hand, his gaze trained fiercely on Castiel’s chest, silently begging it to rise and fall.

"Dean." Its Sam’s voice, muffled by the distance separating them, and Dean’s head snaps towards the sound.

"Sammy?"

His brother’s voice comes again, quiet and laced with worry, “Dean.”

"Dean."

"Dean."

”Dean!” A hand lands on Dean’s shoulder and he jolts awake. His eyes spring open and land on the harsh brightness of Sam’s computer screen and he looks up to find his brother looking down at him, his face twisted into sympathy.

"Dean," Sam says, "you can’t keep doing this."

Dean shrugs Sam’s hand off and rubs at his eyes, ignoring his brother’s protest. The last several weeks Dean’s been alternating between nursing Sam back to health and obsessing over the meteor showers that littered the earth just over a month ago. Castiel was one of those comets hurtling towards the earth and whether he’s dead or alive, Dean has promised himself he will find his best friend.

Beside him Sam sighs. “Why don’t you take a break,” he offers quietly, “I’ll look for awhile.”

"I’m fine, Sammy," Dean states his, voice gruff with sleep. It’s a lie, he feels anything but fine, the eeriness of his nightmare still clinging to his brain making him feel anxious, but it will pass. It always does. Dean shifts in his seat and pushes the computer screen to a less offending angle before he resumes scrolling through cities that reported meteor sightings.

He doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to find Castiel, he’d have more luck finding a needle in a haystack, but he will find him. He has to.

—-

Two weeks later Dean waltzes into the Bunker’s library with a small stack of papers in his hand and a tired smile on his face.

"I think I found him," he says waving the papers triumphantly above his head. He slaps them on the desk in front of Sam and points to a spot on a map circled vigorously in red.

Sam looks down at the map, shuffles through the papers then spares a glance up at Dean.

"How do you know it’s him?" he asks hesitantly.

"I don’t know, Sammy," Dean admits with a shrug. He folds his arms across his chest and leans against the desk, "I just do."

He’d scoured countless news reports and newspaper articles about giant meteors falling from the sky, leaving in their wake new growth and marvelous wonders. Some had left behind trees like Anna, others giant rocks or clear, perfect springs. Each was beautiful and spectacular in its own way, but none of them gave Dean reason to give them second glance. It wasn’t until he read about a brand new field of forget-me-nots in a small town in Idaho that he had any real hope. There was something so innately Castiel about the small blue flowers, something that represented his quiet, fierce demeanor so well, that had Dean digging up as much information about the new field as he could.

Sam nods and Dean can see the wheels in his brother’s head turning. He braces himself for a fight or some kind of protest, but it doesn’t come. Instead Sam asks quietly, “When are you leaving?”

Dean clears his throat before answering, “Tomorrow morning.”

Sam nods again and that is that.

—-

Its a few days drive to Rexford, Idaho where the forget-me-nots sprouted. Dean heads straight there, stopping only for essentials, gas and restroom breaks, and arrives in record timing. He checks into the Scenic View Inn a couple blocks away from the field and after a quick burger from a local joint on the corner next to his hotel he heads down to the field.

There are people all over, some with cameras, others plucking flowers from the ground and pressing them between pages of journals, but all of them with the same awed expression on their face as they gaze out at the flowers. As soon as Dean’s foot hits the soil something familiar resonates within him.

When his eyes land on the flowers, a sea of blue stretching out before him, he stifles a gasp. He’s never been one for flowers, hasn’t paid them much attention aside from when he’s got someone to impress, but the field of forget-me-nots is one of the most beautiful things Dean’s ever encountered.

And it absolutely reeks of Castiel.

As he gapes a figure comes to stand in front of him, blocking his view of the forget-me-nots, and Dean finds himself instead looking down at a stout man in plaid and overalls looking up at him with a wide grin.

"It’s a dollar to look at the fields," the man tells him, his heavy accent sliding around his words, making him sound lazy and ill educated.

"What?" Dean snaps.

The man points to a booth a few yards away and that’s when Dean sees the sign.

REXFORD’S FAMOUS FORGET-ME-NOTS $1 PER PERSON.

"Famous huh?" Dean grumbles as he reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wallet. He hands the guy a dollar bill and is offered a toothy grin in return. "How long has this field even been here?"

"A little over a month. But when something pops up where it don’t belong, you make the most of it."

"What do you mean?"

"The flowers," the man explains, "one day this were an empty field. Nothin’ but weeds and dirt. Then a star falls out of the sky and leaves this behind!" The man gestures with both arms to the field around them. "And that’s not even the weird part!"

Dean studies the man across from him for a moment before saying, “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s the weird part?”

”These flowers aint known to grow in climates like this,” the man states as if he’s sharing a valuable secret with Dean, “and they definitely don’t spring up in the autumn. It’s a miracle sent straight from Heaven.”

Well, Dean thinks to himself, you got part of it right. He thanks the man and climbs back into the Impala. He’s only been at the field for a few minutes, but it was long enough to tell him he’d definitely found where Castiel fell. Whether his grace was still there was a different question entirely. 

For the next few days Dean scours the town with a shroud of doubt curling around inside of him. Just because this is where Castiel fell, doesn’t mean he’s still around, but Dean looks anyway.

He poses as a cop looking for a missing person, asking the residents of Rexford if they’ve noticed anyone new in town. In a place as small as this, new comers don’t usually go unnoticed, but he comes up with mostly nothing until he’s seated at a booth in Ruth’s diner for lunch. The waitress, Betty, an older woman with bottle red hair and too much eye make-up, catches a glimpse of the photo of Castiel that Dean’s been showing people.

"You a friend of Steve’s?" she asks as she pours stale coffee into Dean’s cup.

"Who?" Dean wonders. Betty gestures to the photo.

"Steve."

"You know this guy?" Dean questions, his voice hitching in surprise.

Betty nods. “He’s pretty new in town,” she tells Dean, “works at the Gas ‘N Sip on 9th and Saratoga. He comes in here for pie about twice a week. Nice fellow; mostly keeps to himself.”

"9th and Saratoga you said?" Dean asks, his heart pounding in his chest, a new glimmer of hope flickering inside of him.

"That’s right, honey."

Dean nearly leaps from his seat and Betty backs away from him eyeing him suspiciously.

"Thank you," he tells her dropping a twenty on the table top. Betty opens her mouth in protest, but Dean doesn’t stick around long enough to hear it. He has a fallen angel to retrieve.

When Dean arrives at the Gas ‘N Sip he lingers outside, watching as Castiel helps customers, smothering nachos in cheese, and handing out Icees. The guy still moves like an angel, fluid and graceful, but it’s paired now with a certain type of awkwardness, like Castiel is uncomfortable in his own skin. There’s something definitely different about him, aside from the fact that he’s no longer sporting an oversized trench coat and backwards blue tie, and Dean stands outside longer than is probably socially acceptable trying to place what it is.

After a few minutes the convenience store has cleared and Dean finally goes inside and approaches the counter.

"Hey, Cas." Dean says with a slight tremor in his voice and an easy smile.

He waits for recognition to dawn in Castiel’s eyes, but it never happens. Instead the man across from him tilts his head in a way that’s so familiar Dean’s heart aches, and furrows his brow.

"I’m Steve." Castiel taps his name tag and offers Dean an apologetic grimace.

Dean shifts on his feet, an uncomfortable feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. He’d anticipated having to convince Castiel to come with him, but this was a different game altogether. “Well, I have to say,” Dean says, appeasing to what he assumes is Castiel’s attempt at a new life, “Steve is better than Emmanuel, but pretty generic. Didn’t use bouncingbabynames.com this time, huh?”

Castiel’s furrow deepens, his eyes filled with confusion. “I’m sorry,” he says, “but I don’t understand.”

And if there wasn’t so much raw honesty in Castiel’s voice Dean would still be under the impression this was all a game, but the way the guy is looking at him sends a realization hitting him with such force he has to cling to the countertop to keep from staggering backwards.

"You don’t remember who you are." Dean states mostly to himself as he searches the other man’s eyes.

"I’m Steve," Castiel insists again. Dean can feel the frustration rolling off of Cas in waves and he suddenly wants to be anywhere but standing across from his best friend who apparently has no idea who Dean is.

Dean nods, “Right,” he says, “sorry. I uh-” Dean scratches anxiously at the back of his neck, “I thought you were someone else.”

"It’s alright."

They stand there staring at each other for another beat before Dean breaks the silence, “Thanks anyway,” he mutters and then he turns and stumbles to the door.

Once outside, Dean gets in the Impala and drives.

He drives for hours, aimlessly taking off-ramps and trekking through winding back roads until he comes to a stop in the middle of nowhere. He sits with his forehead pressed to the steering wheel while his thoughts swirl around in his head making him feel dizzy and tired.

He stays that way until the sky bruises purple and the moon rises and then he starts the Impala back up and drives some more.

His intentions were to return home. Instead Dean finds himself back in Rexford, booking another night at the Scenic View Inn, and dialing Sam’s number.

"Did you find him?" Sam asks in way of greeting.

"I found him."

"So… you’re coming home?"

"Did you really think it would be that simple, Sam?" Dean asks. He sprawls out on his bed, a stiff mattress with a dingy comforter, and instantly he misses his memory foam.

Sam sighs on the other line, “Not really,” he admits, “what’s up?”

"Apparently when the guy lost his grace, his memories went with it. He has no idea who he is. He’s calling himself Steve and working as a sales associate at a gas station. He doesn’t remember-" Dean stops short.

"You?" Sam asks.

"What?"

"He doesn’t remember you?"

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, “No,” he confirms gruffly, “he doesn’t remember me.”

"So what’s the plan?"

"I don’t know," Dean admits, "I’m going to stick around for a few days, see if I can feel him out."

"Hold on," Sam says. The other line goes muffled and Dean can hear another voice, one higher than Sam’s own. When Sam comes back on the line, he can hear the slight smile in his brother’s voice.

"Charlie says ‘you better not come back without the angel’. And she says hi."

The knowledge that Charlie is now hanging around the Bunker too, waiting for him to get back lifts Dean’s spirits ever so slightly. “I’ll see what I can do,” he responds.

"Okay, Dean," Sam replies, "keep in touch and- what? Oh. Charlie says, ‘may the force be with you’."

"Nerd," Dean says with a roll of his eyes. Sam chuckles and says good bye and then disconnects the line.

Dean gets little sleep that night, tossing and turning, nightmares shrouding his sleep while his brain grasps for anything that might get Castiel to remember who he is; who Dean is.

—-

When Dean returns to the Gas ‘N Sip he doesn’t have much of a plan, but he’s willing to give just about anything a shot. He waits around until Castiel’s register is free and then takes some things up to the counter.

Castiel looks down at the purchases, but then his gaze shoots back up to Dean, a weariness crowding his features. “You’re back,” he says. It’s not said unkindly, and Dean doesn’t blame him, but it hurts all the same.

"Uh- yeah," Dean answers, "sorry about yesterday. You just really look like this guy I know. Castiel. For a second I thought you were him."

Castiel’s shoulders visibly relax and he picks up Dean’s selections and begins scanning them. “It’s alright,” he says, “we all make mistakes.” 

"We sure do," Dean agrees focusing his attention on the tapping of Castiel’s nimble fingers against the keys of the register. "So," Dean says, "Have you been out to the forget-me-not field yet?"

A shadow crosses Castiel’s eyes, but it’s gone as quickly as it had arrived and Castiel shakes his head. “No,” he answers, “I haven’t had the time.”

"You should make some," Dean tells the other man, "they’re really something."

"So I’ve heard."

Dean nods, “I drove all the way from Lebanon, Kansas just to see them.”

Castiel drops Dean’s purchases into a bag and hands it across the counter to Dean. “That’s quite a long way just to see some flowers,” he comments.

Dean accepts the bag and pulls out his wallet, “They weren’t what I expected,” he admits, “but I’m glad I came.”

Castiel gives him the total, Dean pays the bill, and with a bit of hesitation he walks out of the Gas ‘N Sip with an anxiety building in his chest.

—-

Over the course of a few weeks Dean tries everything he can think of. The last time Castiel lost his memory, it had come back within 24 hours of Dean finding him, but it appears falling has a longer lasting effect on one’s brain than being a chauffeur for Leviathan.

He goes to the Gas ‘N Sip two and three times a week, feeding Cas some story about bad weather and a mix up in travel plans as an explanation as to why he’s still around and dropping things he thinks might remind Castiel of whom he is into their conversations. He mentions angels in one visit and Jimmy Novak in the next, asks Castiel how he feels about flying and if he believes in God or the Devil. He introduces himself and tells Castiel all about Sam and Kevin, even mentions Meg in hopes of dragging some form of memory from Castiel, but the fallen angel remains completely ignorant.

If Castiel thinks Dean’s strange though, he never mentions it. He takes Dean’s seemingly random facts and questions in stride, appearing to enjoy his abnormal conversations with Dean. After only a few visits even though Castiel still doesn’t remember anything of Heaven or Hell or Dean himself, there’s a friendship blossoming between them, bright and hopeful just like the flowers in Castiel’s field, and it’s what keeps Dean in Idaho for much longer than he’d originally intended.

—-

Time blurs together after a couple of weeks and Dean loses himself in a fantasy world he’s created, falling under the impression that all his time spent at the run-down gas station is getting him somewhere. He’s lost all notion of what day or month it is, living his days according to when he can go back in to see Cas and whittling away his nights looking for a cure for his friend. It isn’t until he walks into the convenience store and notices all the Christmas decorations and hears Bing Crosby streaming in from the store’s speakers that he realizes how long he’s been there, playing civilian with Castiel in hopes that something he says one of these days is going to crash through the wall inside Castiel’s head and flood his brain with memories. And that’s when it hits him; nothing he says may ever make Castiel remember.

With that knowledge Dean backs out of the store before Castiel sees him and drives to the forget-me-not fields.

When Dean gets back to his hotel later that evening he’s come to the conclusion that his hope has been futile and makes the decision that it’s time to go home.

—-

Dean approaches the counter the next day with shaking hands and a small, wrapped gift. It’s not much, didn’t cost him anything, but it’s what’s inside his heart.

He waits behind a woman who’s trying to shut her kid up by giving him chocolate, and a burly trucker who reminds him of Bobby and when all the customers are gone and Dean’s staring across the counter into blue eyes that always seem to make him feel like he’s drowning.

"Hello, Dean," Castiel says. There’s a small smile on his face and Dean has the fleeting thought that Cas seems somewhat happy as Steve, smiling more often than Dean’s ever seen, and void of that world-on-his-shoulders aura he used to carry as an angel. That’s when Dean realizes he should have left a long time ago, accepted the fact that Castiel has a new life, one without Dean, and moved on. But those two words, muttered just like they’ve always been, send flip flops through Dean’s stomach and he’s instantly reminded of why he stuck around for so long.

"I gotcha something," Dean finally says, his gaze trained fiercely on the box in his hands, "it’s almost Christmas and you said you didn’t have any family so-" he trails off with nothing left to say and finally looks up.

Castiel’s head is tilted to the side, his eyes soft, tender almost.

"Dean, you didn’t have to-"

"No, I know," Dean says, cutting him off, "but, I wanted to. It probably won’t make a whole lot of sense to you. In fact it will probably just seem crazy, but-" Dean sighs, "Please, just take it."

Castiel’s face goes serious, as if he’s just been given an important task, and he nods once before reaching across the counter and pulling the box into his hands. He cradles it in his clutches and stares at it like he’s not sure whether to open it or keep it wrapped forever.

"Thank you, Dean," he says and his eyes are shining; happy, grateful.

Dean nods his head, “It’s no problem,” he mutters quietly because now that the gift has been given, it’s time to say good bye.

"So I uh-" Dean stops, scrubs a hand over his mouth before starting again, "I’m going home today. Its Christmas next week and I’ve got family waiting for me but you-" he stops again, words caught in his throat. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he’s always wanted to say, but has never been able to get out. He stares across the counter and Castiel stares right back. The familiarity of it all makes something inside of Dean ache.

"You take care of yourself, Steve," he finally finishes.

Castiel nods, “I will,” he agrees. His eyes have an edge of sadness to them that Dean can’t bear to look at and so he offers Castiel one last smile and turns to leave.

It leaves him feeling empty, saying good bye like this, but after he’s said it he squares his shoulders and puts on a happy face, walking out of the Gas ‘N Sip without a single backward glance.

The whole way home his thoughts are haunted by Castiel.

—-

When Dean returns to the Bunker Cas-less, everyone seems to understand not to ask questions. Charlie offers him a sympathetic half-smile, Kevin talks animatedly about their tree, and Sam claps Dean on the back and asks him what he’s making everyone for Christmas Eve dinner. Castiel is never mentioned and Dean’s extended absence is swept under the rug.

The week goes by slowly. Dean spends most of it drinking too much spiked eggnog and watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation on just about every channel imaginable on T.V.

On Christmas Eve Dean’s heart just isn’t in it. Charlie’s throwing tinsel on the tree, chattering about past holiday traditions, while Kevin and Sam argue about the accuracy of the actual date of Jesus’ birth. He wants to be happy, he should be happy; this is the first Christmas in a long time that hasn’t been spent in a motel with gifts from the gas station under the tree, but the thought of Castiel not being with them tugs at Dean’s heart and sours his mood.

He doubles the dose of alcohol in his eggnog and when I’ll Be Home For Christmas sounds through the speakers of their record player, he quickly changes the record to something less Christmas-y and a little more rock.

He sits and watches his family and tries his best to dodge all thoughts of Castiel.

Dean sleeps until just after ten on Christmas morning. No one tries to wake him before then and for that he’s grateful. He’d spent most of the night tossing and turning, visions of Castiel alone at the Gas ‘N Sip on Christmas swimming in his head.

When he pads into the den Sam, Charlie, and Kevin are already awake, digging into the few gifts they’d purchased for each other and drinking coffee while Nat King Cole fills in all the spaces in the background. While the memory of Castiel still eats away at him, Dean makes room in his brain to acknowledge the gratitude he feels that most of the people he cares about are safe and with him on Christmas day.

Later in the afternoon after all the gifts have been unwrapped and everyone is piled onto the old leather sofa to watch It’s a Wonderful Life Dean excuses himself, slipping into his jacket and heading outside to clear his head.

Outside the air is crisp and thin, his breath puffing out of in front of him on every exhale. He shoves his hands into his pockets and stomps through the packed snow away from the Bunker and into the road. Tilting his head towards the heavens, Dean closes his eyes and breathes deeply, in and out.

"Cas," he says into the open air, "I uh-" he pauses, "I know you can’t hear me now that you’re Graceless McGee but-" Dean looks down at his feet and then back to the skies, "I miss you, buddy. And I hope you’re doing okay."

Its quiet for a beat, the only sound the soft wind blowing across the snow and then something crunches quietly behind him, feet falling into snow, followed by a hesitant, “Dean?”

Dean whirls around toward the voice, his eyes wild and his brain going a mile a minute. When he sees the person standing just a few feet away from him, his heart stops in his chest.

"Cas?" he asks, afraid of the answer, "That you?"

Castiel nods, “Yes,” he says, “It’s me.”

Dean takes a step closer as he tries to process what’s happening and takes in the sight of his best friend.

"But how-"

"Your gift. The forget-me-nots, and the note," Castiel explains, "it shouldn’t have worked. It’s not scientifically or logically powerful enough to have worked, but," a small smile grows on the fallen angel’s face and he takes the few steps that will close the gap between them, "it did."

Castiel reaches out a gentle hand and cups the side of Dean’s face sending a warmth spreading through Dean that urges him even closer to the other man until their chests are pushed flush up against each other. “Dean,” Castiel breathes, “I could never forget you.”

It feels like a dream to have Castiel, his Castiel, standing this close to him, saying those words and for a few painful seconds, Dean’s afraid that’s exactly what’s happening. But then Castiel tips his face forward, his nose brushing against Dean’s just before their lips mold together and a settling sense of reality courses through him. He wraps grateful arms around Castiel’s waist beneath the fallen angel’s jacket and presses into the feel of Castiel’s fingers winding into the hair at the back of Dean’s head.

When they pull apart to breathe, Dean smiles against Castiel’s lips, a happiness he’s rarely ever known settling warm and filling within him, and he mutters, “Merry Christmas, Cas.”

Castiel responds by dropping his forehead to rest against Dean’s. “Merry Christmas, Dean.”

Epilogue

When Dean pads out of the bathroom he stops at the sight of Castiel, bare chested and sitting up in bed, waiting patiently for Dean to return. Castiel’s eyes are cast down at something in his hands and when he looks up and sees Dean observing him, his cheeks flush pink.

"Whatcha got there, Cas?" Dean asks as he approaches the bed and climbs in.

"Your Christmas present."

Castiel waits for Dean to pull the covers up around his hips before handing Dean a small silver box tied with a velvety red bow. Dean eyes the box for a moment before carefully sliding off the ribbon and setting it and the lid aside. Inside the box rests a single scrap of paper, a Gas ‘N Sip receipt, but when Dean sees the words scrawled in Castiel’s elegant handwriting on the back he drops the box and pushes Castiel against the mattress and kisses his thanks into every inch of Castiel’s skin.

Days later their gifts to each other go into a frame and as the years go by it helps get them through everything that comes their way. It’s just a couple of pieces of paper, some faded blue flowers, and a few simple words, but it means more to the both of them than anything else.

Don’t forget me, Cas. I need you.

I need you, too.


End file.
